Child of the Streets
by GypsyRuth
Summary: UPDATED! 6/4/02 Chapter 7 added! Hannah has disgraced her family and run away from home. What will happen when her
1. Disgrace

As if in a daze, Hannah looked around at the various faces surrounding her. Her mother's face was full of disappointment and sadness. Her father's was angry, red, as if he were going to explode. He was yelling at her but through the haze she only saw the lips moving, no sound came out. Her sister, Julia, glared at her with the hatred and fire of a thousand suns. It wasn't Hannah's fault that their mother had found out about her predicament just a week before Julia's wedding. She'd tried to hide it as long as she could but each day it grew more and more difficult. Maybe they wouldn't notice that she was getting fatter and fatter. Maybe they wouldn't notice the constant green tint to her skin from being nauseous every day. How could she have been so stupid? Of course her mother, of all people, would figure it out! She just hadn't expected it so soon, especially not before Julia's wedding.  
  
"How could you!?" Julia had cried. "God, Hannah! Of all the things to do and of all the times to do it! What will my friends think? What will Richard think?" Richard was the name of Julia's fiancée, a Harvard graduate and just as stuck-up and snobby as Julia. A perfect match, Hannah thought.  
  
"It's okay, dear," their mother soothed. "Everything will go as planned. No one will know."  
  
"Of course they will!" sobbed Julia. "She'll be as fat as a cow! How can they not notice?!"  
  
"The wedding's in a week, dear. Hannah won't be able to get that fat in only a week."  
  
"I hate her! She would do something like this! She would! I knew that if something could ruin my day Hannah would think of it!"  
  
"I didn't plan to have a baby, Julia, nor did I purposely try to ruin your wedding," Hannah interjected.  
  
"Exactly! You don't plan, you just do! If you would only stop and think, you wouldn't get in all those messes you seem to find yourself in! Oh God, my sister's a hussy! Oh, God! Mama! She'll disgrace us all!"  
  
Those words still rang in Hannah's ears as she tried to listen to what her father was saying. Probably the same thing, only louder.  
  
"Hannah? Hannah! Are you listening to me?" her father's voice broke in.  
  
"Yes, Papa," she sighed. She wished he would just stop yelling so she could go back to her room and think of ways to get out of this.  
  
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Papa, and I'll never ever do it again," she singsonged tiredly. She was beginning to feel nauseous again.  
  
The slap caught her unexpectedly. Wincing, Hannah touched her cheek, willing the tears not to come.  
  
"YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!" her father roared. "This is exactly the kind of behavior I would expect from a hussy on the streets."  
  
Hussy, that word again. Why did everyone keep using it? It was a one time only event and it wasn't even really her fault. Peter had talked her into it; more like he had forced her into it, but she didn't like to think about that night. Now Peter was gone. God knew where. He'd left without saying anything, just like he had come.  
  
The tears came despite her best efforts as her father once again railed her, calling her a slut (which made her mother wince) and a whore and, of course, a hussy. It seemed to be the word of choice in the house. Hannah looked around again. Her mother, if it was possible seemed even paler and disappointed than before. Julia still glared and her father turned redder and redder.  
  
"Hannah," Julia said softly so only Hannah could hear. "You really are the greatest disappointment to this family."  
  
"Stop it!" Hannah screamed. "Stop it, all of you! Stop it!"  
  
Her parents looked over, stunned. Julia smiled smugly.  
  
"Hannah--" her mother started.  
  
But Hannah had made up her mind. She turned and ran from the room, down the hall, and out the front door, leaving it swinging open in the spring breeze.  
  
"Hannah!" her mother called. "Hannah! Come back!"  
  
"Don't worry, Dorothy," her father said, putting his hand on her mother's shoulder. "She's got no place to go."  
  
******  
  
Tears flowed down Hannah's cheeks as she ran. She didn't care if anyone saw her. She only wanted to get out of there. Out of that section of town forever. Her auburn hair began falling out of its tight up-do and cascaded down her shoulders in waves. Turning the corner, she almost ran into a woman pushing a baby carriage. Mrs. Gibson from next door, Hannah noted. Without saying anything, Hannah pushed past and continued on her path.  
  
"Well, I never!" Mrs. Gibson sputtered.  
  
Where she was going, Hannah didn't know, nor did she care. She only knew she needed to get as far away as possible.  
  
******  
  
The sun was setting when Hannah finally stopped. Although she'd quit running hours ago, she had continued to press on, walking quickly. Now she looked around her in the dimming light. Buildings surrounded her. Women in the windows called to each other in a language she'd never heard. Horse drawn carts clip-clopped down a street littered with debris from the day. A small child ran into the street. He looked up at her and, for a moment, their eyes locked. Then a voice called and he turned away and ran into a building.  
  
"Supper," Hannah thought, her stomach growling suddenly. She hadn't realized how hungry all the traveling had made her. Instinctively, she reached for her purse only to find that she hadn't one. In her haste to leave the house she had forgotten money. "How typical," she thought. She couldn't go home now, though. She couldn't face her family and she wasn't even all that sure which way home was.  
  
"I suppose one night without supper won't kill me," she thought to herself.  
  
A wave of nausea swept over her suddenly, crippling her.  
  
"Ohhhhhh," she moaned, doubling over. "No, not here. I won't vomit here. Not in front of all these people." She thought of the people in their tenements, staring at her from their windows.  
  
"I've got to get out of here!" she cried, turning to run. An alley to her left caught her eye and she veered into it. In a corner, a pile of boxes and rags beckoned to her.  
  
"I…just…need…to…rest…for…a …bit," she told herself, adjusting the boxes so she could lay behind them, hidden from view. She curled up in the fetal position and covered herself with the rags. "Just a few minutes rest…." She thought, closing her heavy eyes. 


	2. The Meeting

Smells of cooking wafted down from the tenements and awoke Hannah. She sat up and stretched.  
  
"OOOOOO!" she sighed.  
  
The hard pavement had been unforgiving, causing her back to ache now but she had slept like a rock throughout the night. Her stomach was growling uncontrollably.  
  
"Breakfast," she murmured. "Where am I going to get breakfast?"  
  
The smells of food were making her even hungrier so she rose slowly and set of in search of something to eat. Unaccustomed to the ways of the streets, she was surprised to see children of all ages dressed in rags, running along, searching for morsels left in the street from the previous day. In a corner of the alley she spotted a half-eaten apple. Immediately she remembered the delicious, crispy apples the cook always kept stocked in the kitchen for snacks and the occasional pie. Her mouth watered and she hurried over quickly to claim the apple before someone else could.  
  
"How queer I must look," she thought. "Running around in my fancy dress among these street rats, no better than a beggar!"  
  
The fancy dress, she noticed, looked nothing quite as fancy as it had the day before. Now it was rumpled and stained with mud. Her hair was tangled and damp.  
  
"What a sight I must look! Julia would call me a beggaress, a dirty little beggaress. Well, if I'm to be a hussy I suppose I must look the part," she thought bitterly, although she had never actually seen a real prostitute.  
  
Her stomach grumbled again, reminding her of the apple she held in her hands. Quickly she gobbled it all down, including the core. "Waste not, want not," the cook always said. The apple was, of course, nothing like the ones she had at home but she couldn't very well choose.  
  
"What am I going to do now?" she wondered, emerging from the alley into the street. She smoothed her dress as best she could and stood tall, trying not to look too self-conscious. The street was becoming flooded with people. Children darted among the carriages. Men walked to work, chatting jovially among each other in the same language she'd heard the night before. Awnings were being put up and stores across the city were opening. People pointed at her and whispered as she walked down the street. Hannah did her best to ignore them, pretending she was better than them, that they had no right to talk to her, let alone about her.  
  
"Oh, Hannah," she thought, tears welling up in her eyes. "You're no better than anyone around here! Quit fooling yourself!"  
  
An old woman carrying a basket of flowers was following her. Hannah stopped and turned around curiously.  
  
"Pretty lady, scusi, pretty lady," the woman said. "Scusi, flower for da pretty lady only a nickel. Flower for da pretty lady."  
  
Hannah looked at the colorful roses. Her mother loved roses. She would've loved to bring her mother a flower or two just to see the smile on her mother's face.  
  
"Mama," she murmured sadly.  
  
"No." She shook her head. "No flowers."  
  
"Please, pretty lady. One flower. I give for…" the woman paused to think. "Two pennies. Only two pennies. Pretty lady."  
  
"No, no flowers. No money," Hannah replied, shaking her head again.  
  
"No money?" The woman shook her head and hurried off, murmuring to herself.  
  
Hannah continued on, not exactly sure what she was looking for, where she was going, or if she would ever find it.  
  
******  
  
Hours later Hannah was still wandering. By now the streets were crowed and noisy. Twice vendors had nearly run her down. Now she was hungry again and no closer to finding what she was searching for than she had been in the morning. It seemed like she had eaten the apple days ago rather than hours ago.  
  
A boy brushed past her quickly and entered the building ahead of them. Looking in she saw that it was a restaurant. Inside, boys of all ages were eating and laughing. A boy of about 17 with light brown hair and a red bandana around his neck stood on a table hamming it up with his friend. The friend looked to be about the same age as the boy, perhaps a little younger. He had brown hair and an eye patch over one of his eyes.  
  
Hannah looked through the window hungrily. Suddenly the friend looked over and noticed her. He began hitting the boy on the back and pointing. Quickly she turned and continued walking.  
  
"Jack, Jack!" Kid Blink cried. "Jack, look!"  
  
Jack paused and looked where Blink was pointing.  
  
"Yeah, so it's a goil. Waddah ya want wit it?" he replied.  
  
"Aw, Jack," Blink swooned. "Ain't she beautiful?"  
  
"Ain't she beautiful?" Jack mimicked, pushing the unsuspecting Blink off the table. The restaurant erupted into fits of laughter. "Ain't she beautiful? Yeah, an' so what if she's beautiful? You ain't gonna git 'er. Didja see 'er dress? You ain't nuttin' but a newsie an' she's da Queen of England."  
  
Blink clambered to his feet. "Yeah, well I bets you couldn' get 'er, neither!"  
  
"OOOOOOOO!" the crowd roared.  
  
"Ten to one Cowboy gets 'er!" a voice called.  
  
"Aw, Race!" they booed.  
  
"What?" Racetrack asked, feigning shock.  
  
"I could git 'er, yeah. But I don' wants 'er," Jack said.  
  
"Yeah, right. Ye couldn' git 'er an' yer not even gonna try 'cause ya know I'se right," said Blink.  
  
"Oh ho ho! Ya think I couldn't git 'er?"  
  
"Nope. I don' think yous man enough."  
  
"Git 'er, Cowboy!" the crowd began chanting. "Git 'er! Git 'er!"  
  
"I'll show ya," he cried, jumping off the table and running into the street. The group of newsies followed him out.  
  
Hannah turned to glance behind her and noticed the boy from the restaurant hurrying toward her. Pretending not to notice, she continued walking.  
  
"Heya!" Jack called. "I mean, er, excuse me, miss."  
  
Hannah ignored him.  
  
"Excuse me, miss." He tapped her shoulder and she turned around.  
  
"Yes?" she said, sounding braver than she felt. What did this strange boy want?  
  
"I was, er, I was wonderin' if ya'd like to buy one of me papes?"  
  
Hannah glanced at his hands. They held nothing.  
  
"Do you have any papers?"  
  
"Oh!" Jack realized that he'd sold them all in the morning. "Oh, I'se sorry! I, uh, must've forgotten dem.  
  
"Well, that would make it rather difficult for me to buy one, even if I wanted one." Hannah giggled nervously. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?  
  
"Yeah, I guess it would."  
  
A wave of nausea swept over Hannah and she leaned heavily on the wall next to her.  
  
"Is everythin' all right, miss?" Jack asked, genuine concern in his voice.  
  
"Yes…I…I just need a minute."  
  
Another wave swept over her and the hunger finally caught up with her. She felt herself falling toward the ground as if in slow motion.  
  
"Hey!" Jack yelled to the other newsies.  
  
"Heya! Da Cowboy killed 'er!" one of them yelled.  
  
"Hey! Come help 'er!" Jack yelled again.  
  
Hannah saw feet running toward her and felt hands rolling her over. Then she was in the air, staring into the boy's face. He was carrying her, she realized, before everything went black. 


	3. Home

Hannah woke up in Jack's arms.  
  
"Where was he taking her?" she wondered, looking up at his face. He was focused, looking straight ahead at where he was going.  
  
"Kloppman!" he called, entering the lodging house. "Kloppman! Help!"  
  
"Eh?" the old man said, emerging from a back room. "Whaddah ya want?" He checked the clock. "It ain't time for ya ta be here yet."  
  
"Cowboy killed 'er!" Skittery piped up from behind Jack.  
  
"Shut up, Skittery," Jack said. "I didn' kill 'er!"  
  
"Kill who?" Kloppman asked. He glanced at Jack and finally noticed the girl he held in his arms. "Nah, she ain't dead. Look, she's awake."  
  
Jack looked down and sure enough, Hannah was staring right back at him. He was so shocked that he almost dropped her.  
  
"Whoa there!" Kloppman exclaimed. "Here, put 'er in this chair." He indicated a wooden chair in front of the desk.  
  
When she was seated, Hannah looked around at everyone, confused and scared. It seemed like hundreds of male faces were staring at her.  
  
"Wh-where am I?" she asked.  
  
"Da Lower East Manhattan Lodgin' House," someone said, proudly.  
  
Hannah looked confused. Suddenly her stomach grumbled loudly and everyone laughed.  
  
"Looks like yer hungry," Jack said. "Hey, Kloppman, ya got anythin' in da kitchen?"  
  
Grumbling, Kloppman made his way to the back. He often feigned annoyance but all the newsies knew that he really loved taking care of them. He had become a father/grandfather figure to most of them and always protected them.  
  
A few minutes later he emerged with a plate of chicken and cornbread. The delicious smell made Hannah's stomach grumble even louder. Kloppman pulled a small table over in front of her and set the plate on it.  
  
"There's more if ya want it," he told Hannah.  
  
She quickly devoured the entire plate, much to the shock and pleasure of the boys there. Sighing, she leaned back in the chair.  
  
"Ya done?" Jack asked.  
  
Hannah nodded.  
  
"So, what's yer name?" Race asked.  
  
"Ha—" she paused, thinking. Should she tell them her real name?  
  
"Anna," she finished. "Anna, Anna Baker."  
  
"An' how old are ya?"  
  
"16. Almost 17."  
  
"An' where are ya from?"  
  
Tears formed in Hannah's eyes as she thought about her home in Chelsea. They would probably send her back if they knew she was from that district.  
  
"That's enough, Race," Jack said, noticing Hannah's sadness. "She don' need ta tell us anythin'."  
  
Hannah looked at him thankfully.  
  
"I-I'm not from anywhere. I-I don't have a home anymore."  
  
She looked down at her fancy dress and knew that they wouldn't believe that. The newsies looked at each other but didn't say anything.  
  
An idea suddenly formed in Hannah's head. She needed a home and friends. These boys seemed nice enough. Why couldn't she stay here?  
  
"Please, Sir," she said to Kloppman. "Please, couldn't I stay here?"  
  
"Yeah!" Jack chimed in.  
  
Kloppman was secretly pleased that the girl would want to stay in his lodging house but at the same time he knew that it was for newsies only.  
  
"Well, this is a newsie lodging house, an' I don' think yer a newsie."  
  
"But couldn't I become a newsie?" she asked desperately.  
  
The newsies roared their disapproval.  
  
"Goils cain't be newsies!" someone yelled.  
  
"Well, couldn't I—" she stopped to think.  
  
"Comeon, Kloppman," Jack said. "Jus' let 'er stay 'ere. Der's gotta be somethin' she kin do."  
  
Kloppman smiled warmly. "Well, I do need someone ta help me around here, cleanin' up after ya an' cookin' an' everythin'. An' I do have an extra room."  
  
"Please, Sir, I can do that. Please. I need a place to stay. Please!" Hannah begged.  
  
"Then I think we can arrange somethin'."  
  
Jack smiled and then glanced at Hannah. He noticed her dress.  
  
"Ya cain't work in dat. Yer gonna need somethin' else ta wear," he told her.  
  
"But I haven't anything else," she objected. "I don't mind, really."  
  
Suddenly Jack remembered something.  
  
"I kin get ya somethin'."  
  
"I don't want you to spend your money one me. I'm fine."  
  
"Nah, it won' cost me a penny."  
  
"Jack," Kloppman cautioned. "No stealin'."  
  
"It ain't stealin'. It jus so happens dat it belongs ta me. I jus need help getting' it."  
  
He looked at Boots.  
  
"Boots, ya come wit me. We gotta go git somethin'."  
  
"Aight," Boots replied, following Jack as he rushed out of the lodging house.  
  
*****  
  
"Please be there!" Jack muttered as he raced down the street, dodging people and carts.  
  
"Heya, Jack! Wait up!" Boots yelled from behind.  
  
"Hurry up, Boots!" Jack called, slowing down slightly to allow Boots to catch up.  
  
As they turned the corner Jack saw it: the tenement where he had grown up. It was the same as it had been when they'd left, if not a little more drab and dingy. He rushed through the door and stopped, remembering how he and his brother would race each other up the three flights of stairs to their apartment and the games of marbles the boys used to play in the foyer. Today no one played in the foyer but a faint chalk outline still remained on the floor from an earlier game.  
  
Checking to make sure no one would see him, he opened a small door to his left and descended quickly down the stairs the open door revealed.  
  
"Uh, Jack? Are we supposed ta be in 'ere?" Boots asked nervously.  
  
"Shhh," Jack whispered harshly.  
  
The room at the bottom of the stairs was dark but as his eyes adjusted he could make out boxes and trunks piled high. He and his brother used to play hide-and-go-seek among these boxes, he remembered. Slowly he made his way over to a corner in the far back.  
  
"Boots, come help me," he whispered.  
  
Together, they moved the boxes in the corner until only one remained. It was an old trunk, covered in dust.  
  
"Gimme a light," he told Boots.  
  
The small light from the match illuminated the top of the box. Jack brushed his hand across it, revealing a name: SULLIVAN.  
  
"Dis is da one," he announced.  
  
"Are ya sure we should be takin' dis?" Boots asked.  
  
"Sure, it's mine, ain't it?"  
  
"Is it?" Boots was puzzled.  
  
"Yeah, me Ma an' I put it down 'ere before we left. Actually, it's me Da's but he ain't comin' back ta claim it anyways."  
  
"If ya say so…."  
  
"Help me lift it."  
  
"Lift it? What for?"  
  
"We'se gonna take it back to da lodgin' house."  
  
"All da way back der? Ain't it kinda heavy?"  
  
"Nah, it ain't dat heavy. 'Sides, no use leavin' it here. I ain't comin' back here agin."  
  
The trunk was heavier than Jack remembered, probably because, as he recalled half way back, their neighbor, Mr. O'Connor, had been doing most of the carrying. Still, they finally dragged it across the threshold of the lodging house.  
  
"Next time, git someone else ta help ya," Boots panted, collapsing on top of the trunk.  
  
"Hey! Look what Cowboy's got!" one of the newsies yelled up the stairs to the dormitory.  
  
There was a clamor as the newsies upstairs rushed to be the first down the stairs, and therefore, to be better able to see whatever Jack had brought back with him.  
  
"It's not much," Jack told them. "Just an old trunk."  
  
"Well, let's see what's in it!" Blink yelled.  
  
"Okay…." Jack hesitated and then pushed Boots off the top of the trunk.  
  
"Hey!" Boots objected, picking himself up.  
  
"Gimme somethin' ta open it wit," Jack said.  
  
A hammer was quickly fetched. Jack pounded away at the old lock until it finally popped off. The room was completely silent as he slowly opened the top of the trunk.  
  
"It ain't nuttin' but clothes!" someone exclaimed.  
  
"Clothes? Dat's borin'. Who cares about some old clothes?" another one said.  
  
"I told ya it wasn't much," Jack reminded them.  
  
"Next time Cowboy brings somethin' in, make sure its actually interestin'," Race commented, whacking the head of the newsie who had announced the arrival of the trunk.  
  
"Comeon, Boots. Help me git dis into Hannah's room," Jack said.  
  
"Aw, do I have ta?" Boots whined.  
  
"Yeah, and den we won't have ta carry it agin."  
  
"Fine. But not agin."  
  
When they entered the room Kloppman had given Hannah, she was sound asleep.  
  
"Shhh," Jack warned. "Set it down by da bed."  
  
Having deposited the trunk, Boots rushed off to join the other newsies upstairs. Jack lingered behind to look in the trunk. It was the first time in many years that he had seen the contents. On the top were his old clothes, two pairs of pants and shirts. He held them up, remembering. Now, of course, they were too small. They would have fit his brother, Michael, if he hadn't been killed. Carefully, Jack placed his old clothes next to the trunk on the floor. Underneath was a small red cowboy hat. His first ever cowboy hat that his father had bought him at Coney Island when he was five. The cord was broken from so much use but it was otherwise in good shape. He placed the hat on the pile of clothes. Under the hat were more boys' clothes. Smaller. They were Michael's. Quickly Jack took them out. It was too painful to remember. Finally, he saw his mother's dresses. There were three plus a nightgown and an apron. He held them up. They looked like the right size for Anna. Perfect. He selected a faded red linen dress and laid it across the chair in the corner. The nightgown he left on the foot of the bed in case she woke up and wanted to put it on.  
  
As he was replacing the clothes in the trunk, a piece of brown fur caught his eye. He pulled it out: a worn teddy bear. Michael's teddy bear. It had once been his. Then it was passed on to Michael and it would have been passed on to Nellie, his little sister. Aside from Jack's marbles, it had been Michael's favorite toy. He never went to bed without it and he had been heartbroken when their mother told him he couldn't bring it. "We'll come back for it," she'd said. Jack hugged the bear close, willing the tears away. At last, he buried the bear in the bottom of the trunk, where no one would find it. Then he rose and left the room, glancing back at the sleeping girl before silently shutting the door.  
  
  
  
Note: Some of you are probably thinking "who is Michael and who is Nellie? And how can she take such creative licence?" Well, if you read the original script, Jack originally had a brother named Michael who was killed. Michael's death haunts Jack throughout the story. Obviously this isn't the case in the Newsies we know today. Still, I decided to add Michael. Nellie is a character I made up to be Jack's little sister. She is also dead. I am working on the story of Jack before Newsies currently. When it is done, it will reveal more information. 


	4. Working Girl

This isn't a complete chapter yet. Physics calls unfortunately….  
  
May 29, 2002  
  
Update: Chapter still isn't finished yet but thanks for all the great reviews!! I love writing this story and I'm glad you all enjoy reading it. Finals are next week and then I graduate but believe me, I am NOT done writing yet. I guess you all can read this updated but not complete, still, chapter. This one's taking me a while for some reason. Sorry for the delay. Keep reading!!  
  
P.S. For those who were wondering, the original script can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Park/1190/originalscript.htm  
  
Happy reading!  
  
  
  
************************************************************************  
  
1 Train Crash Claims Another Victim  
  
New York, April 20—Thomas Benjamin Mitchell of Chelsea died today from injuries sustained when the train he was on jumped its tracks two days ago. Mr. Mitchell is the 105th victim in this horrific accident. He was returning from Harvard Law School in Boston for his sister, Julia's, wedding to Harvard alumnus, Richard Klein….  
  
******  
  
The voices of newsies were echoing down the corridors of the lodging house when Hannah awoke. She sat up and looked around the small room. The bed was smaller than the one she had at home but was much more comfortable than the pavement. There was a small table to the right of the bed with an oil lamp on it. In the left corner, across from the bed, was a wooden chair with the dress Jack had given her draped over it. Along the left sidewall was a small chest of drawers with a bowl and pitcher placed on top.  
  
Suddenly there was a sharp rapping on the door.  
  
"Anna?" Jack called from the other side.  
  
"Don't come in!" she answered. She didn't want him to see her dressed as she was. She still wore the dress she'd left home with and her hair was a tangled mess.  
  
"I won'. Kloppman says ta git up. He doesn' need yer help yet, though, so take yer time. Oh, dat dress on da chair is fer you. I hope it fits."  
  
A boy called down the hall, "Jack! Red stole my shoe an' he won' give it back!"  
  
"Nah, I didn'!" another voice answered. "It's MY shoe!!"  
  
"Is not!"  
  
"Is too!"  
  
"Is not!"  
  
"OW!! He punched me!"  
  
Jack laughed. "I guess I betta go stop 'em before dey kill each other."  
  
Hannah yawned and climbed out of bed. She walked over to the pitcher and bowl. Thankfully, there was water already in the pitcher so she wouldn't have to go out and face all those boys. She splashed the water liberally on her face and neck, trying to get rid of as much of the dirt from the previous days as possible.  
  
As soon as she felt clean enough she changed from her wrinkled dress into the one on the chair. The new dress fit almost perfectly. The sleeves and hem were a bit long but she vaguely remembered how to fix that. The only thing left to do now was her hair but what could she do with it? She looked around the room, searching for a brush or comb and finding nothing.  
  
"I suppose I'll have to ask Mr. Kloppman for one," she thought. She had wanted to remain in her room until Kloppman called for her so as to avoid the raucous boys. Their noise was now lessening, indicating, she guessed, that they were off to work. She finger combed her hair as well as possible and braided it, tying the braid with a ribbon she pulled from her old dress.  
  
Finally she opened the door and stepped into the now silent hallway. Suddenly, a small boy of about 8 with sandy blond hair came flying down the hall.  
  
"Hey! Wait up!" he called as he ran.  
  
Hannah stepped back into her room just as he was about to run her over.  
  
"Hey, Col, watch where yer goin'," Kloppman admonished the boy and stepped around the corner. "Ya almost ran 'er down!"  
  
Col mumbled an apology and kept on running.  
  
"Collision, or Col, as most of da boys calls 'im. Always getting' inta trouble and runnin' inta things," Kloppman explained to Hannah as she once again emerged from her room.  
  
"Oh," she replied quietly. "What's his real name? I mean, doesn't he have one?"  
  
"'is real name, eh?" Kloppman scratched his head, thinking. "Dave? No…. Dan? No…. Ah yes, Dennis. Dennis Cleary. No one uses 'is real name much, though. Just 'bout everyone's got a nickname. There's Cowboy an' Racetrack an' Crutchy an' Skittery an' Mush an' Boots an' da list goes on an' on. Seems like ya cain't really be a newsie wit out a nickname. Ya'll learn 'em all soon enough. So, ya ready ta get started? Oh wait, I bet ya still need ta eat. Well, comeon. I got somethin' for ya in da kitchen."  
  
He motioned for Hannah to follow him. She followed him down the corridor to a door on the end. The door opened into a brightly lit cooking area cluttered with food and pans. A small table with two chairs was set in the corner. There was a plate with several rolls in the center of the table.  
  
"Sit down, sit down," Kloppman urged, pointing to one of the chairs. "Grab a roll. Da ya want some coffee or….." He paused to allow her to fill in the blank.  
  
"Coffee, please," Hannah responded. She had never drunken coffee in her life. Always they had tea or fresh juice for breakfast at home.  
  
"Coffee it is." Kloppman placed the mug in front of her. The liquid was black and smelled weird. She scrunched her nose up but then remembered her manners. Luckily, the old man was off clearing the counters. Slowly she brought the drink to her lips and sipped it. It was warm, not too hot, but she couldn't say she exactly liked the taste. Not wanting to appear ungrateful, she slowly finished the entire mug. By the time she was done, she didn't think it tasted all that bad. Perhaps she would get used to it.  
  
When she had finished her breakfast, she stood up uncertainly.  
  
"Um…what should I do?" she asked.  
  
"Huh?" Kloppman turned around, surprised. "Done? Oh, okay. Just leave da mug there an' I'll clean it up later. Ya git everythin' ya need? Not hungry? I see Jack got ya a dress. Fits ya pretty good, too."  
  
Hannah smiled self-consciously.  
  
"The hem and arms are a little long," she told him.  
  
"Nuttin' we can't fix." He smiled warmly and she immediately felt more at ease. "Well, let's see what we can find fer ya ta do…." He stopped to think and Hannah took this as her opportunity.  
  
"Please, Sir, do you have a comb or a brush I can use? It's just that I haven't brushed my hair in days and….I feel dreadful asking and…" her voice trailed off.  
  
Kloppman laughed. "Of course! How could I be so stupid?! Wait there an' I'll be back in a minute."  
  
He quickly disappeared from the room and returned several minutes later with a brush and hand-held mirror.  
  
"They're my daughter's but she's married and gone now so you kin have 'em."  
  
Hannah thanked him and retreated to her room to fix her hair. When she returned, Kloppman was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.  
  
"Time ta make da beds," he said and started up the stairs. Hannah followed quickly.  
  
They entered the bunkroom. Blankets and sheets were strewn around the floor and hanging off the bunks. Clothes hung out of the drawers of the small night tables next to each bed.  
  
"Boys," Kloppman mumbled to himself. "Ya know how ta make beds?"  
  
"Yes," Hannah answered. Cleaning up that room looked like a huge task. It seemed as if a tornado had swept through.  
  
"Good. You take that side an' I'll take this side. Jus' pull tha sheets up an' tuck 'em in. Fold da blanket and put it on da end of da bed. Jus' shove da clothes back in da drawers. If yer not sure where da clothes belong, jus' leave 'em where dey are. I kin identify 'em pretty much."  
  
Hannah headed over to where he had pointed. She took one last look down the long row of beds, sighed, and began her job. When Kloppman finished, she was only halfway done.  
  
"Doesn' need ta be perfect," he chuckled. "Da boys don' care anyways. It isn't some fancy hotel."  
  
Hannah blushed. At home, her bed was always made perfectly, with the corners squared and tight, as her mother liked. She had to admit, though, that perfectly squaring all the corners was taking her forever.  
  
"Here, I'll help," Kloppman said. He started at the end of the row and worked toward her until they were finally done.  
  
"Eventually you'll be able ta clean up dis whole room in da time it takes ya ta jus' do one side," he assured her.  
  
Hannah shook her head. She highly doubted it.  
  
"Well, ya need a break?"  
  
"No," Hannah lied. She really was tired and feeling slightly ill but she wanted to prove to Kloppman that she could earn her keep.  
  
Next they moved on to the washroom and then back to the kitchen. When they were finished, both she and Kloppman collapsed into the chairs at the table, exhausted. Now Hannah was tired and hungry as well.  
  
"Time fer lunch," Kloppman said, standing again. "Got some soup from last night I'll heat up an' some bread as well. Do what ya want an' I'll call you when it's ready."  
  
Hannah headed back to her room to lie down. She thanked God that today she hadn't felt too ill and hadn't thrown up.  
  
"What would they do when they found out?" she wondered. "Well, I won't tell them until I can't hide it anymore."  
  
After lunch there was still more to do, although not too much more. She swept the rooms and dusted and, when the little mail there was arrived, she sorted it. Mostly mail for Kloppman but a few of the newsies had received something as well. This surprised her as her father had always told her the newsies were all orphans and runaways. Why would an orphan or a runaway be receiving mail? Oh well, these were not matters for her to ponder.  
  
Hours later, there was a loud clambering outside. It frightened Hannah, who was positioned at the desk in the lobby.  
  
"Don' worry!" Kloppman called from a room in the back. "Jus' da newsies returnin'. Remember what I told ya. Dey all know how ta sign in, though, so it shouldn' be a problem.  
  
"Heya, Kloppman!" Voices called as the door crashed open. When the boys in front saw Hannah they stopped dead in their tracks, forgetting for a moment who she was. Their sudden stop caused a large collision.  
  
"Hey! What's da big idea?!?" Racetrack called from the back of the crowd.  
  
"I think I seen an' angel," Mush said.  
  
Hannah blushed.  
  
"You ain't seen an' angel. Dat's da girl Cowboy tried ta kill yesterday," Skittery replied.  
  
"Whadda ya mean I tried ta kill 'er?" Jack said. "I didn't do nuttin' of da sort."  
  
He pushed his was to the front and approached the desk. The boys leading the crowd remained where they were standing, transfixed.  
  
"Heya, Anna," he said to Hannah.  
  
"Hi," she replied softly. Slowly she pushed the ledger toward him. He opened it to a clean page and signed his name.  
  
"Comeon!" Race yelled. "Move it! Ya kin stare at 'er later!"  
  
Jack laughed and moved out of the way as Race came bounding up to sign the ledger. As if on cue, the barricade broke and the whole group of boys made their way to the desk.  
  
"So, Anna, how was yer day? I hope Kloppman wasn't too big a bully," Jack asked when the crowd had dispersed.  
  
Kloppman came out from the back room when he heard his name mentioned.  
  
"Heya, Kloppman!" Jack greeted him. "I was jus' askin' Anna if ya were a bully today."  
  
"Me? A bully?" Kloppman joked with him. "Never!"  
  
He turned toward Hannah.  
  
"I wasn' a bully, was I?" he asked.  
  
Hannah looked down, saying nothing.  
  
"Ah, see! Ya've frightened 'er!" Jack teased. "Come on, Anna, we'll go where Kloppman cain't bother ya." He pulled her around the counter.  
  
She looked back at Kloppman, wondering, hoping that he would stop this boy. Kloppman just smiled and said nothing. Jack held tight to Hannah's wrist and led her to the roof of the lodging house.  
  
"Isn't it beautiful?" he asked when they reached the top. "Not as beautiful as Santa Fe, 'course. In Santa Fe ya kin see forever, as far as da land stretches."  
  
Hannah was mesmerized by the view. She had never seen New York from that high up. It was truly magnificent with the sun setting, casting a red glow over everything.  
  
"You've been to Santa Fe?" she asked incredulously, still looking across the miles of buildings.  
  
"Nah. Almost got ta one time but I didn' take it. I'se heard stories an' my uncle, Liam, used ta send letters ta me mudder."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Probably got some of da letters in da trunk in yer room. Most of 'em I keep in a secret place. Haven' looked at 'em in a while, though." Jack's voice faded as he sank into his past.  
  
The mention of the trunk reminded Hannah that she still didn't know this boy's name. Something Sullivan, she assumed from what it said on top of the trunk.  
  
She turned abruptly.  
  
"What's your name?" It sounded harsher than she had meant.  
  
"Me? Oh, Kelly. Jack Kelly."  
  
"That trunk's not yours? I could've sworn you said it was yours."  
  
"It is. It's me fadder's. Frank Sullivan. Used ta be my name, too. Francis Sullivan. Not much of a name, ya think? I changed it a while ago an' I jus' haven' gone back. I like Jack Kelly much better, don' you?"  
  
"Where's your family?"  
  
"Used ta tell people dat me fadder an' brudder lived in Santa Fe. I likes dat story better."  
  
Jack turned away from Hannah.  
  
"I don' really want ta talk about it," he said softly.  
  
"And your mother?" Hannah knew she shouldn't ask. Hadn't he just said he didn't want to talk about it? Still, she was curious.  
  
"She died. Jus' after me sista was born. She died, too. Nellie'd be…." He paused to think. "Eight now."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Really."  
  
"What about yer mudder an' fadder? Dey dead?"  
  
Hannah didn't say anything. She wasn't sure if she should tell him the truth. Even if she just told him they weren't, wouldn't he wonder why she had left? Eventually it would lead to where she had come from.  
  
Thankfully, a voice interrupted their conversation.  
  
"Supper!! Heya, Cowboy! Stop foolin' around an' come eat an' bring da goil wit ya!"  
  
There would be time for revelations in the future, Hannah thought. There was so much about this boy, Jack. She knew he must be thinking the same thing about her. So much both of them were hiding from everyone. Time would tell, she knew. For now there was cleaning and washing and….the list was endless. Hannah sighed and followed Jack down the stairs.  
  
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Sorry, guys. Not my best chapter. More to come, though. Oh well. 


	5. Caught

1 Search for Missing Girl  
  
New York, May 30—Police continue to search Chelsea and the immediate area around it for the 16-year-old daughter of businessman Franklin Mitchell. Hannah Mitchell was reported missing by her parents one month ago when she failed to return from a mid-day walk. Mrs. Stephen Gibson, a neighbor of the family, reportedly saw Hannah running from something or someone that same afternoon.  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell claim that Hannah left to get fresh air after a dispute with her elder sister, Julia, about Julia's up-coming wedding to business entrepreneur, Richard Klein. They don't believe that she would leave the Chelsea area on her own. They also refuse to accept that Hannah may have run away because of family troubles. "We were happy and excited about Julia's wedding. There are no troubles in this family and even if there were, it isn't in Hannah's character to run away from a problem," Mr. Mitchell told police.  
  
Hannah's disappearance comes at a tragic time for this family. The same day Hannah disappeared, her brother, Thomas, was injured in a train accident just outside of the city. He died shortly thereafter. Hannah's disappearance and the train accident are not thought to be linked. "Hannah didn't know that Thomas was coming home that day and we don't believe that she knew about the accident prior to her disappearance," police said. "If Hannah did know what happened to Thomas, she would want to be with him and with us," Mr. Mitchell added.  
  
Hannah has thick, wavy, auburn hair that reaches past her shoulders. Her eyes are blue. She is of normal height and weight for her age. If anyone has any information about the disappearance of Hannah Mitchell, they are asked to contact Chelsea police immediately.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
As the weeks went by, Hannah continued to remain aloof from the boys in the lodging house. She barely said anything to them and, if she did, it was in a voice only slightly above a whisper. It wasn't that she didn't like them or that she was unhappy in her work, she simply didn't want to get close to anyone. She'd been close to people before and they had only hurt her and gotten her into trouble.  
  
Even gentle old Kloppman couldn't break her shell. He and Jack would try to start conversations with her only to find themselves the only ones talking. Eventually, the other newsies gave up trying to know Hannah and ignored her, as if she were no more than the wall. This hurt Hannah but at the same time she understood why. The attention Jack and Kloppman gave her was comforting in that she knew they were there for her if she ever needed them.  
  
By now she was five months pregnant, she estimated, and was beginning to show more and more obviously. The dress was tightening over her expanding belly. It was only a matter of time before someone realized what was going on.  
  
******  
  
Jack flipped through the paper, looking for good headlines to hawk. Suddenly, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and saw Kid Blink standing behind him, holding a page from the paper up so Jack could read it.  
  
Jack scanned the headlines: "State Orders Farwell to Pay Taxes," "Boat Sinks in Harbor; No One Injured," "Ellis Island Reports Influx of Irish Immigrants," "Search Continues for Missing Girl," "Factory Fire Injures Two."  
  
"Yeah? What's so big? Da fire? Da boat?" Jack said.  
  
"Nah. Look. 'Search continues fer missin' goil.' 'Hannah Mitchell was reported missing by her parents one month ago when she failed to return from a mid-day walk… Hannah has thick, wavy, auburn hair that reaches past her shoulders. Her eyes are blue. She is of normal height and weight for her age,'" Blink read. "Remind ya of anybodies ya know? Maybe Anna? Says 'ere dat da goil's from Chelsea, da rich district. Remember da dress she had on?"  
  
Blink whistled softly and continued. "Dat was a NICE dress. Like da kin' rich people wear. An' she looks jus' like dis poisen dey describes. Wavy, auburn hair, blue eyes. Only thing different's dat she's a little bit, um, bigga, if ya know what I means, den dey says."  
  
Jack grabbed the paper and read the article. He had to admit there was a striking resemblance between the girl in the article and Anna Baker.  
  
"Nah," he denied. "Der's probably lots a goils like dis. She probably jus' found da dress or somethin'. She wouldn' lie."  
  
"She nevah told ya where she was from," Blink reminded him. "Besides, who would throw away a dress like dat?"  
  
"Look, her name's different. Hannah Mitchell. Anna Baker. Hannah. Anna." Even as Jack said it, he noticed the similarities between the first names and remembered that he, himself, had changed his name when he escaped from the refuge.  
  
"I don' git it, dough. Why would anyone run away from a home in Chelsea? Dat's a nice area. Says dey didn' have no problems in da family. What a poifect life," Blink swooned.  
  
"Sometimes problems aren't as obvious as it seems," Jack muttered. Suddenly, he grabbed Blink's collar and pulled him close.  
  
"Don' ya say anythin' ta Anna or Hannah or whatever her name is! An' don' say nuttin' ta nobody else, especially da police. If she's in trouble, she'll tell us. If ya do, I'll…I'll….I'll kill ya."  
  
Jack's eyes narrowed and he glared at Blink menacingly. Blink felt for certain that Jack meant what he said. When Jack let go of Blink's collar, he backed away, hands up.  
  
"O-Okay, Jacky-boy. I won' say nuttin'. Okay."  
  
Blink picked up his papers and quickly hurried away, leaving Jack to puzzle over the identity of Anna Baker.  
  
******  
  
Throughout the day Jack reread the article until he knew it by heart. What seemed like the hundredth time, something jumped out at him: "Hannah's disappearance comes at a tragic time for this family. The same day Hannah disappeared, her brother, Thomas, was injured in a train accident just outside of the city. He died shortly thereafter."  
  
The train crash. That had been a good selling day. Even two days later, when another victim had died, he had sold more than 100 papers. That victim. What was his name? Thomas. Thomas Benjamin Mitchell, the brother of the missing girl. Was that why Anna was so quiet and sad? Did she know about Thomas' death? How could she, though? And why would she have run away over the death of her brother? When Liam had died, Jack had stayed with him, even at the cost of his escape. Tears formed in Jack's eyes when he thought about Liam, crushed under the wheel of a wagon. He shook his head and continued on his way, thinking about Anna or Hannah.  
  
******  
  
Hannah sat at the desk, watching as the newsies each signed the ledger. Finally, the crowd thinned and dispersed but Jack hadn't signed in yet. She sat at the desk, waiting, unsure why she cared or why she waited when there was work to be done, until Kloppman called everyone for supper. She helped serve, keeping an eye out for Jack the entire time, but still he didn't come. After supper she helped Kloppman clean up and hurried back to check the ledger. Racetrack had arrived but still no Jack.  
  
"What'cha sittin' here for?" Kloppman asked as he entered the room.  
  
Surprised, Hannah turned to look at him. She tried to hide the worry on her face. "Jack hasn't come in yet," she answered.  
  
"Ah, so he hasn' an' yer waitin' fer him, I suppose."  
  
Hannah nodded.  
  
"Ya could be here all night. Could be he ran inta some trouble or he's out an' about wit some goil or he jus' wanted ta spend da night out."  
  
Hannah's face fell with the news that Jack could be out with a girl. For some reason she was jealous. She didn't know why. Maybe because he was one of her only friends, if you could call a one-sided conversation the makings of a friendship.  
  
Jack loudly entered the lodging house, slamming the door behind him. He had made up his mind to confront Hannah and he was angry. He hurried over to the counter and roughly grabbed Hannah's arm, pulling her around the counter.  
  
"Hey!" Kloppman protested.  
  
"We gotta talk….NOW. Da tree of us," Jack announced.  
  
He pulled Hannah into the kitchen, Kloppman following quickly behind.  
  
"Sit!" Jack commanded.  
  
Stunned, Hannah collapsed into a chair at the small table. Jack reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a sheet of folded newsprint, and pounded it on the table.  
  
"Anyone ya know?" He asked.  
  
Hannah read: Search Continues for Missing Girl. Police continue to search Chelsea and the immediate area around it for the 16-year-old daughter of businessman Franklin Mitchell. Hannah Mitchell was reported missing by her parents one month ago….  
  
She sighed. They knew.  
  
Jack snatched the paper and thrust in at Kloppman. "She's missin'," he said simply. "She lied ta us."  
  
"I didn't lie!" Hannah protested, tears beginning to stream down her face. Now they would send her home for sure. She couldn't bear to face her family, especially Thomas.  
  
Kloppman carefully folded the paper and placed it in his pocket.  
  
"As I recall," he started. "You, Jack Kelly or Francis Sullivan, haven' always been a font a' truth yerself."  
  
"But this is different—" Jack started.  
  
"How? Yer both runnin' from somethin'."  
  
"Please don't send me back!" Hannah blubbered, interrupting. "Please! I can't go back!"  
  
Jack looked at her, surprised.  
  
"Why not? Seems like ya've got da poifect life at home except fer…."  
  
"Except for what?" So they knew that too. They would throw her out for sure now.  
  
Jack pulled a chair next to her and sat down. Kloppman followed suit. Hannah wearily lowered her head to Kloppman's shoulder. Surely the old man would protect her. Kloppman pulled her tight against him and then he pushed her away. He knew of Thomas' death as well and knew what Jack wanted him to say.  
  
"Der was," he started. "Der was an accident. A train accident the day it says ya disappeared. I remember it. 100 dead in da wreck. Two days later anuddah one died: Thomas Mitchell."  
  
Hannah gasped and screamed as the news hit her.  
  
"THOMAS!!! NO!!!" she cried. "NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please God, no!!! Not Thomas! Please, no!!"  
  
She collapsed against Kloppman and sobbed into his shoulder. Kloppman simply held her as Jack flashed back to the night so long ago when his father was arrested…..  
  
"Annie, there's been an accident at the factory. Five people died, including the foreman."  
  
"NO! FRANK! NO! He's dead! He's dead! I know it! He's dead! NO!! FRANK!! NO!! Don't leave me!! Please, no!…."  
  
  
  
Hannah's hiccoughed and pushed away from Kloppman. Still crying, she whispered, "Please don't send me back. Please. I've nothing to go back for now. Please."  
  
Kloppman nodded but Jack was confused. There was something eerily familiar about this scene. It reminded him so much of the night his father caused the accident but why? It wasn't just the cries that both Hannah and his mother made. There was something he was missing. He glanced at Hannah in his mother's dress. That was it! The dress! It was the same one his mother was wearing that night. It even bulged the same way in the middle. Why did it bulge? He tried to remember. Because of Nellie! His mother was carrying Nellie!  
  
"My God," Jack burst out suddenly. "Yer gonna have a baby!" 


	6. Home is Where They Catch You When You Fa...

Okay, first off, thanks to everyone, especially Fire Faerie Brigid for their great reviews. They really keep me wanting to write this story, which is great because I, myself, really like this story and am really excited about it.  
  
Secondly, I'm going to apologize because I keep hinting at things, like Jack's mother, brother, and sister and Kloppman's daughter, that I'm not really going to go into great detail about in this story. Actually, more information will be revealed in another work in progress (not on FanFiction.net) currently titled "Frankie's Story" and one I'm planning on writing about Kloppman this summer. So I'll keep you all updated! Keep reading and reviewing!  
  
Thirdly, this coming week is going to be hectic with exams, prom, and graduation so I probably won't be able to update until the week after. Sorry ( but keep looking for updates!!  
  
************************************************************************  
  
Kloppman turned to look at Jack in shock.  
  
"What the—" he started.  
  
"No, me muddah looked da same way when me faddah was arrested. I remembah. She was cryin' like her an' she was wearin' da same dress an' she was gonna have me sista Nellie so, ya know, she was…well, she was…fat, I guess. Like her."  
  
Kloppman glanced at Hannah and a smile spread across his face.  
  
"My, my. Looks like wer gonna have anuddah mouth ta feed," he chuckled.  
  
Hannah's tear-stained face lit up.  
  
"Really? You mean I can stay?"  
  
"Don' know where else ya'd go. Ya already said ya don' wanna go back."  
  
Hannah threw herself at Kloppman, hugging him tightly.  
  
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" she exclaimed over and over.  
  
"Always wanted a baby ta take care of agin."  
  
Jack stood in the background, smiling slightly. He hadn't meant to be so cruel or blunt to her and now he felt ashamed. The thought of a baby in the lodging house brought many memories back to him, but he pushed them away for the time. "Don't live in the past," his mother always said. "Only in the present."  
  
"Sorry," he said, a little sheepishly. "I didn' mean ta make ya cry."  
  
"Well, will ya look at dat. Jack Kelly brought ta his knees. Will wonders never cease?" Kloppman laughed.  
  
Jack swatted at him playfully.  
  
"So, I guess we calls ya 'Hannah' know, huh?"  
  
"If you want. I mean, I guess it is my name. My brother, Thomas—"  
  
Hannah broke into loud sobs again.  
  
"My…brother…Thomas…used…to…call…me…Anna…when…I…was…little," she finished through her tears.  
  
Jack was unsure what to do about women who cried. He hadn't known what to do when his mother cried and certainly he didn't know what to do now, so he simply stayed off to the side. Kloppman, who had had a daughter, knew exactly what to do. He pulled Hannah against him and let her sob into his shoulder, as he had earlier, saying nothing until she was done.  
  
A clattering was heard on the stairs to the roof.  
  
"I saw 'em go up here," Skittery said.  
  
"Well, I hope der up here. I'se hungry! Kloppy's never late wit da grub," came another voice. Pie Eater's, Jack guessed. He was always hungry.  
  
Jack started down the stairs to head them off.  
  
"Shhh," he warned them. "Hannah's up der wit Kloppman. Ya cain't disturb dem."  
  
"Oooh, Kloppy's getting' good wit da ladies in his ol' age," Pie Eater teased.  
  
Jack whacked him across the head.  
  
"OW!" Pie Eater exclaimed. "I was only jokin'!"  
  
"Yeah, well, it ain't funny. Hannah's upset. Her bruddah died."  
  
"Who's dis Hannah, anyway?" Skittery interrupted.  
  
Jack whispered impatiently, "Anna. Hannah. Hannah's her real name. Her bruddah died in dat train crash a while ago."  
  
"I remember dat crash!" Pie Eater cried.  
  
"Shh!" Jack exclaimed.  
  
"Sorry. Good headlines, though. Hey, when'd she git a bruddah?"  
  
"You really are stupid, Pie Eater," Skittery piped up. "Ya don' jus' git a bruddah. She must've had one da whole time. Well, now she doesn' but she did. She jus' didn' tell no one 'bout him. Come ta think of it, she didn' tell no one nuttin'. Not even Cowboy."  
  
"Yeah, well, all dis talkin' is makin' me hungry. When dey gonna be done? When we gonna eat?"  
  
Jack started back up the stairs to ask Kloppman but stopped just before he reached the top. He could hear Hannah still crying and didn't want to disturb them yet. He remembered what it was like when his mother died and when his sister and then his brother died. He remembered how much he had wanted to crawl into a corner and die. How life seemed so pointless without them, especially after Michael's death, when he had no one left and nothing to live for except his dream of Santa Fe. Even Santa Fe had seemed too far and too much of a struggle to obtain. He knew that Hannah must be feeling the same way, probably even worse because she hadn't been with her brother when he died. His mother once said that the worst part of her own mother's death was not being able to tell her she was sorry and that she loved her before she died. He knew this had haunted his mother her entire life.  
  
Jack turned around and headed down the stairs.  
  
"Hey! Where ya goin'? What about supper?" Pie Eater cried.  
  
"I'll make it," Jack said simply.  
  
"When'd ya learn ta cook?"  
  
"Me muddah taught me so's I could feed me bruddah when she was sick. What about it?" He looked at them, ready to fight if they teased him.  
  
"Nu-nuttin. Jus' wonderin'."  
  
Skittery and Pie Eater silently trailed Jack down the stairs.  
  
Meanwhile, Hannah cried herself to sleep in Kloppman's arms. He held her, staring into the sunset and remembering his own daughter--who had been same age as Hannah--not married as he claimed, but buried with his wife thirteen long years in the city cemetery. "So we all have secrets and lies," he thought wryly. 


	7. Chelsea

First, a shout out to the DETROIT RED WINGS!!! Good luck tonight, guys!  
  
Second, a shout out to the CK Class of 2002! Wahoo!! Almost done!!  
  
Now, on with the story.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
When Hannah awoke the next morning, she was in her own bed in the lodging house. The sunlight streamed in and the voices of newsies filled the streets.  
  
"Oh, no!" she thought, alarmed. "I overslept!" The events of the previous day were forgotten in her hurry to dress. When she emerged from the room, no one was in the halls. The smells of cooking wafted from the kitchen.  
  
In the kitchen Kloppman was at the stove, as usual. Jack was seated at the small table, chatting with Kloppman. He looked over and saw Hannah in the doorway.  
  
"Hey, Kloppy! Ya almost done?" he called.  
  
"Hmmm," Kloppman answered vaguely, concentrating on what he was cooking.  
  
"Hey, Hannah," Jack said to her as she seated herself at the table. "Feelin' betta?"  
  
Hannah nodded, confused.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be selling papers?" she asked.  
  
"Nah. I'se takin' da day off. Figured ya'd want da company."  
  
"Company? Why?" The memories came flooding back to her. Her face grew sad and she looked down at the table.  
  
Jack reached over and touched her hand gently.  
  
"I know how ya feels," he sympathized. "It's like da world's gonna end. Like der ain't nuttin' left in life, right?"  
  
Hannah nodded again.  
  
"An' dat's why you an' I are gonna go out today instead of stayin' in dis ol' house. No offence, Kloppy."  
  
"But what about my chores?" Hannah objected.  
  
"I can manage. I managed before an' I'll manage today," Kloppman said as he placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of her. "Special. Just fer today."  
  
Although the breakfast smelled wonderful, it was also making her nauseated. She stood up quickly and ran to the washroom. In a few minutes she was back.  
  
"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly.  
  
"I knew Kloppman wasn' a good cook but I never seen anyone run away so fast," Jack joked.  
  
"No, no, it wasn't that—" Hannah objected. Embarrassed, she began to devour the food.  
  
"Whoa! Slow down!" Kloppman laughed. "Ya'll make yerself sick agin!"  
  
While Hannah was eating, Jack went into her room and dug threw the trunk again. He triumphantly pulled out a knit shawl and carried his prize back to Hannah.  
  
"Me muddah's shawl," he explained. "In case ya gets cold."  
  
Hannah, finished eating, stood up and Jack gently wrapped the shawl around her thin shoulders.  
  
"Now, scoot!" Kloppman ordered, clearing the dishes.  
  
"Where are we going?" Hannah asked when they were outside.  
  
"Figured I'd show ya around," Jack answered. "Ya've been here for a month an' still haven' really seen nuttin'"  
  
They spent the morning walking the streets. Jack pointed out stores and restaurants and Medda's theater—which he promised to take her to later. They briefly stopped in front of a tenement.  
  
"Da Jacobs used ta live here. Dey moved ta Joisey so's Mista Jacobs could git a job," Jack said sadly. "Davey was me friend an' Sarah was me goil. Dey still writes ta me, though."  
  
"Do you have a girl now?" Hannah asked carefully.  
  
"Nah. Der's some goils ya know but…" His voice trailed off. "I mean, dey don' mean nuttin'.  
  
He smiled at her. Hannah blushed and looked away.  
  
"Ya hungry?" Jack asked a while later.  
  
Hannah nodded.  
  
"Ya ever had a hot dog?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Nevah?!? Well, den ya betta try one!"  
  
He galloped off to a vendor down the street and returned a few minutes later with two hot dogs.  
  
"An' it jus' so happens dat dis is where we catch da trolley," he said threw a mouthful of hot dog.  
  
Hannah nibbled hers gingerly until she discovered that she liked it.  
  
"Trolley?" she asked in between bites.  
  
"Yeah. Wer goin' up town. Oh, dat reminds me!" He dashed off and returned with a bouquet of flowers.  
  
"For you," he said, suddenly shy. He shoved the flowers at her and looked away.  
  
"Thanks," Hannah laughed. Jack smiled, glad that she was happy.  
  
The trolley finally arrived and they got on, chatting lightly for the whole ride.  
  
"Chelsea!" the conductor called.  
  
"Dis is us," Jack said. He took Hannah's hand and led her off the trolley before she could object.  
  
A pit formed in Hannah's stomach. So he was taking her home after all. She felt betrayed. How could he do this? They'd promised! But to her surprise, he led her away from the direction of her house. They walked in silence, Jack glancing at a piece of paper he held in his hand and Hannah on the lookout for anyone who might recognize her.  
  
Eventually they reached a large wrought-iron gate. Hannah looked up. "Cemetary" it said across the top. Jack took her hand and led her down the rows of gravestones until they arrived at what she recognized as her family's section. A large marble pillar with "Mitchell" inscribed on it marked the area. Around it were scattered numerous other marble stones, all varying in age. On the far end was a mound of earth with new grass growing on it. Jack led her to this grave. "Thomas Benjamin Mitchell" the stone read. "June 4, 1876 – April 20, 1900 Beloved Son and Brother".  
  
Hannah started at the marker, finally fully accepting Thomas' death. There it was, written on the stone. Tears filled her eyes again and she fell to her knees.  
  
"Oh, Thomas," she wept. "What am I going to do without you?"  
  
As her tears subsided, Jack knelt down next to her and placed his arm around her shoulders. Hannah slumped against him, wanting his protection.  
  
"I miss him so much!" she cried. "Why did I leave? He needed me and I didn't even know it! He doesn't know I'm okay or anything! I'm such a fool!"  
  
"It's okay," Jack soothed. "He understands now."  
  
He didn't know where the words were coming from. They just flowed and seemed to sooth Hannah. Eventually she stood up and looked down at the grave.  
  
"I'm sorry, Thomas," she whispered. "I love you."  
  
Bending down, she placed the bouquet on the mound. Then she lightly kissed the gravestone and turned away. Jack was there and she fell into his arms gratefully. They embraced. A strange feeling filled Jack, a feeling he couldn't explain. Slowly, he tilted Hannah's chin toward him. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. He kissed her lips gently and pulled her close once more. 


End file.
